Thought Monger

I could probably make quite a long list of the various ways in which I continue to struggle with Dad's death. However, I think that because Covid-19 is just so...well...out there, publicized, talked about and lord, politicized, it simply adds to and complicates my grief on a regular basis. It's as if there is a stigma placed on my grief because of the circumstance and cause of death.  This is something I try to reckon with, find peace with, not get emotional about, but, y'all? It's hard. It's real hard. And some of what I'm going to share is ugly. My preference is to stay light hearted when possible, but these thoughts have been weighing heavy on me. Real heavy.  Examples:  Certain Facebook "Friends"  I have Covid deniers in my "friend" group on Facebook. I'm going to classify a Covid denier as one who posts mocking memes about efforts to promote social distancing and mask wearing, those who rant and rave about anything resembling a sligh...

Who would have called first? I wondered last week, when we received about 4 inches of snow - a fair amount for us living in the Richmond, VA area. And I wondered again this morning, a week later, when I woke to more of the white stuff plopping down. Plopping is a much more apt word, than 'drifting' or 'sprinkling' or whatever word you might imagine is more poetic. Today's snow is just 'meh'. All details I would I have shared with the rapt audience of Dad, who, now that I think of it probably would have called first.  He had a habit of watching the weather patterns of all his kids' whereabouts. Whether they be our permanent residents or our favorite vacation destinations. And if something interesting was in the mix in said locale, Dale would be in the know and ready to report. I also find it interesting that though I live not 20 minutes from one sister, he would make it a point to check in on both of us: maybe our weather experience would be different? In...

Catching my breath is tough right now. And I mean that physically, not figuratively, however I suppose it can cut both ways seeing as I feel so far behind at both work and home.  But physically, breathing is just a challenge. A good, full deep breath is a rare occurrence in these first few weeks following Dad's passing. I wonder why that is? Shouldn't I be exhausted and ready to crash (and therefore wake up refreshed)? Shouldn't I feel peace and closure following the funeral? Shouldn't I...? Guys, these are rhetorical questions, by the way. I know the answers. I just still feel the need to ask myself.  Now, it's not like my everyday breathing is erratic or anxious either, it's just this odd pattern of almost unsatisfying half-breaths - enough to keep the oxygen flowing, but not enough to give my lungs a good rich hug - a feeling that I typically find so satisfying. No, to get THAT feeling to my lungs, I have to force a tear inducing gasp like yawn. And when I do...

Day 1:  Starting something new is always a little awkward - kinks to address, nerves to sort out and thus begins this grief blog/journal.  My level of anxiety on starting a blog, an actual blog that would be out in the world for people to see is stratospheric. See, while I love to write, my thoughts are typically limited to random Facebook updates, newsletter style emails to colleagues at work regarding random [but hopefully topical] messages and then of course the most captive audience of all: the annual Holiday Letter - yes, I'm one of those. And then, of course, there are the 4-5 works of fiction that I am constantly noodling over, but never pushing out into the world, in spite of big dreams of publishing of book. I took a baby step in the this direction when Dad was admitted into the ICU during his all too brief Covid-19 battle. There were so many people looking for updates and the text/email/Facebook traffic amongst the family became challenging to juggle, so we decided t...